


Convalescence

by pseudofaux



Category: Samurai Love Ballad: PARTY
Genre: F/M, Healing, Injury, KITTEN CATS, change post injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-04 00:53:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13353051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudofaux/pseuds/pseudofaux
Summary: In protecting the person most important to Kojuro, the person most precious to Kojuro was badly hurt.(Violence warning is mostly warning, but if discussion of injury is upsetting to you, skip the first paragraph, or the story entire. No hard feelings!)





	Convalescence

**Author's Note:**

> A request from Han on tumblr: "Would you be willing to hurt me and then heal me with some pain and fluff for Kojuro?"

Disarmed and cornered, all she could think to do was put herself between Masamune and their attacker and cross her arms over her face. There was instantly a sharpness, terrible twin pulls at the smooth flesh of her arms. The skin was _torn_ , a cold burn was being poured into each tear, and it was _scary_. She felt terribly frightened. Still enraged, but for a second, and then another, her anger wavered, giving way to the danger of _what if I cannot do this_. As her mind was racing, trying to stave off thinking about the cuts to her body and the warm dribble—gush—of blood out of her arms, and move on instead to how to get Masamune out, The Lord of Oshu himself shoved his sword up from behind her with a cry and impaled their attacker. Masamune stood, twisting his sword and the man—the body—in front of them made a sound and smell she never, ever wanted to experience again.

Masamune kicked the other man away and turned back to her. Her sleeves, knees, and the mat beneath her were slick and soaked with vivid red. He murmured her name, horrified, and shouted for help.

She was dizzy, and very cold.

 _Kojuro_.

Masamune was shaking her shoulders and saying her name again. He was moving slowly and sounded far away.

Kojuro. Green eyes. Warm smile. Messy. Love. _Love_.

Her cheek felt something sharp. Something. She needed to focus. Needed to tell…

“Masamune-sama,” she said, as soon as her wits were back, and she decided to keep going until they left her again, because she knew they would but couldn’t spend the time to think about it, “Remind Kojuro that I love him, and I want him to be happy in the best way he can, and… try… happy?”

What was she saying?

Darkness. Lord Masamune crying?

Silence.

* * *

“Broth if she wakes,” the surgeon recommended.

“If?” Masamune’s question was a demand.

The doctor bowed as low as his stance allowed.

“Milord. Women… I have never seen a woman with this kind of blood loss. Her body is sized… differently. I do not know if her constitution is enough to withstand this.”

Masamune snapped “Better than that of most. Get out.”

And he immediately felt terrible—the surgeon was only doing what he could, and had come quickly, and worked competently. He would have to have Kojuro deal with—

Kojuro.

Kojuro had to know.

Masamune called for the fastest rider in Yonezawa to be brought to him immediately. Yes, in this room. NOW!

* * *

Kojuro rode one horse to exhaustion, and then did the same to another to get back.

* * *

When the second horse, eyes wide and every breath a heave, finally brought him through the gates of Yonezawa, Kojuro worried even more.

The castle was very quiet. A single maid was waiting for him, pale pink kimono smudged red at the chest and sleeves in a ghastly dye he knew well.

“Someone will come for the horse. Lord Kojuro, please come with me, quickly.”

He did.

* * *

It was the longest night of his life, and he refused to leave the room that had been set up for her. If she… If…

He had to be there. If.

She breathed, but unsteadily and shallowly. There was color on her cheeks, but it was dried blood. He sat at war with himself, weighing the option of cleaning it against the possibility of disturbing her. Considering if he should disturb her on purpose, try to wake her so they could attempt goodbyes.

But all he did was sit. After an hour he put his hand to her hair, careful to touch gently, and he was still there and weeping when Masamune entered the room.

“Shigezane is coming,” Masamune said.

Kojuro nodded. His instinct was to comfort Masamune but he did not want to move.

“She was fearless,” Masamune said.

Kojuro nodded. Of course she was. And her fearlessness meant Masamune was safe, which was the greatest joy of his life. Of course she had given that to him. And her fearlessness meant she had shielded Masamune from the twin blades of an assassin, which meant she was not safe, which was the most fathomless horror of his life.

“She demanded that I tell you…” Masamune began, but stopped.

Kojuro looked up after several minutes.

Masamune was frowning, and his green eye was full of tears. They would break the dam of his restraint any minute, or spill over with the blinking that was to come. Kojuro knew Masamune.

“Later. If we have to,” Masamune said, and settled on the floor across her body from Kojuro.

They kept vigil. Silently.

* * *

Her color was no better at dawn. But her eyes opened, and Kojuro’s heart nearly burst.

She looked disoriented, blinking in a way that was rapid and sleepy as her head turned. Kojuro said her name on a sob and she stopped looking around and settled on him.

“Love,” she said, with a tired smile, and then her eyes rolled back and she was gone so fast his fingers flew to her neck, to her wrist.

The sluggish beat of her blood in her body was the most tormenting reassurance he could imagine.

* * *

The pink-clad maid came in to clean her face. Kojuro saw the maid’s lip trembling.

“Umeko,” he asked, “Are you friends?”

Umeko nodded, and squeaked out a suppressed cry, turning her face to one of her sleeves. He let her finish her work in silence.

Shigezane came in next, and offered to watch over her so Kojuro could bathe. He refused. Shigezane frowned, but nodded, and took her hand as though it were made of fine pottery. Murmured a prayer. He told Kojuro three guards were outside. Asked if one of them stationing himself inside the room would make Kojuro feel any better.

Kojuro said no. Aside from the woman before him waking up and being whole, there was not much in this world he could imagine making him feel better.

* * *

The next time her eyes opened, they focused better. And she said his name, and that she was happy to see him, and weakly asked for something to drink.

He shouted hoarsely for water and broth to be brought to them at once. In an instant the door was open and a tray with water, tea, and soup was brought inside.

The maid said “Masamune-sama’s orders,” put the tray beside him, and left.

She wanted to sit up. He could deny her nothing. He assured her Masamune was fine, and very concerned for her, when she asked.

When she could not grip the soupspoon, she began to cry. He hushed her fiercely and demanded she let him do it, that he owed her this and much more. She sniffled. And she let him. A terrible sign.

“Go bathe,” she said when she was full and drowsy again.

“No,” he said flatly.

“You smell.”

He wanted so badly to crush her body to his at the spark, the preciousness of that quip, but reminded himself of her state and settled for smiling.

“I’m… I feel like I will wake up,” she said with obvious consternation.

“That is very good to hear.” He smiled but his voice was thick.

“I mean it. Bathe. Come back and rest with me.”

“After you fall asleep.”

This time he let himself tousle her beautiful hair, and he put his forehead to hers and murmured his love for her until her smile went slack as she fell asleep.

Shigezane showed up with his bathing supplies, and told Kojuro very solemnly he would sit by her and not even blink until Kojuro returned.

Kojuro glared. Nodded. Softened.

He bathed in a rush, redressed, and ran back to her room.

Shigezane smiled at him and left in silence.

This entire situation was wholly unnatural.

* * *

When she woke again, she asked for more water and said she was hungry. Just as before, her desires were immediately fulfilled.

Matsuko, who brought in the tray, squeezed her hand before leaving.

She was quiet. She agreed to let him bathe her, which he did with utmost care, a cloth in and out of warm water. He tried not to think of how deeply her passivity chilled him.

* * *

He was unsure if they should go home, where she might be more comfortable, or stay at Yonezawa, where he could do his work at her side.

Masamune made it very clear she could have any room—absolutely _anything_ —in the castle. She smiled and demured.

And when Masamune left the room, she sobbed into Kojuro’s shoulder. She still couldn’t grip things.

He shushed her, ran his hands down the cascade of her now clean hair, told her it had only been a few days. She had done powerful work saving Masamune, and needed time to powerfully heal.

He was telling it to himself, too.

* * *

She was weak and quiet, but appeared to be healing. No infection had taken her in any of the nights. She never even contracted a fever. She was wan, and her smiles were small. But she was alive, and her recovery thus far was a series of good signs.

So they went home, once she was walking without dizziness.  

The servants of Yonezawa who had been her friends were happy to help her (Masamune had of course commanded it, though he hadn’t needed to) and the people of Shiroishi thought very fondly of her and were suitably impressed that she had been willing to take blades meant for the Lord of Oshu. A few of the staff at Shiroishi came to stay at the house in town. They began to refer to her as the Brave Lady Katakura.

She was quieter for weeks, light dimmed. She was ravenous in bed, desperate (in ways he recognized all too well) to chase pleasure and feel alive. And he was desperate for her, desperate to please and keep her and know for himself that she was alive, so that presented no challenge. They fell asleep tucked up tightly against one another. Some nights he would wake suddenly and find her awake as well. He would hum her lullabies.

Her non-dominant hand was not the same—that arm had sustained a deeper cut, and something connecting her forearm to her fingers had been irreparably damaged. She could no longer hold things in it steadily, or form a strong grip. The sensation in her fingers was limited.

But her other hand, in time, could still hold and use all her kitchen implements. She could hold and use a brush, as well, and was able to resume her writing. They discovered she could also guide a blade at least as well as before, now with a ferocity of intention that startled and relieved Kojuro, made Shigezane smile sadly, and gave Masamune the idea to commission a new blade for her. Kojuro had mixed feelings he kept to himself on the matter.

She lost and regained weight as she recovered.  

Some things she did not regain.

Perhaps because of the loss, because of the unpredictable ebb and flow of her recovery, when newness came into their lives, she seemed determined to claim it with her whole heart.

* * *

The cat was no kitten, though they had no way of knowing how old it was. It wandered into her kitchen with an imperiousness that made witnesses laugh. She would have shooed it if not for the limp.

She named the little beast Choku, and truly the high-handness of the creature seemed to know no bounds. Kojuro rolled his eyes, but never where she could see. She and the cat quietly doted on and supported one another. And Choku proved an excellent mouser.

For the most part the cat kept to the kitchens, but sometimes Kojuro would find them in the garden together in the sunshine, bellies toward the sun.

* * *

When she told him she wanted to return to service, he frowned.

She insisted.

She was reinstated. Masamune demanded that Kojuro honor her request.

* * *

One night Choku yowled outside their room. Twice. Then again. The low trill of sound got Kojuro out of bed in a huff to shoo the cat away. His movement woke her, and as she blearily asked what he was doing, the cat yowled again. Then tiny, thin mews.

Oh **_no_**.

* * *

The kittens—there were three—became fixtures of life at their house in town. In deference to Kojuro she did not allow them to sleep in the bedroom, but they were never shooed out of anywhere else. They were eager for her attention in particular, and she would pet and coo at them every morning before leaving and when they returned at night the four cats would be waiting for her affection, perched on the garden gate.  

He could live with that, as long as he got to live with her.


End file.
